07/04/2022 Social Butterflies and Worn Out Shoes

One of the consequences of being nomadic is that Roger and I spend most of our time with each other and very little time with other people.  This is especially true when we're house sitting.  When we're bicycle touring there's always someone to talk to because we're a novelty and lots of people come and say hello.  When we're camping there's always people to talk to in the camp kitchen, bonding over the grubby barbecues, the dire state of the hot plate, or the latest petty refrigerator theft that has occurred.  When we're house-sitting, however, we only get to talk to whatever cat or dog we're responsible for, each other, and occasionally a nosy friendly neighbour.

Given this dearth of external human contact, it's a good thing we like each other (most of the time).  Of course, I do spend two days working which involves hours on the phone talking to (mostly) lovely old people in Queensland while Roger builds up a deficit of human contact and waits for me to finish so he can bombard me with all his unspent thoughts on the dot of 1630.

This week we had the astounding experience of not once, not twice, but thrice spending social time with people who weren't us.

Our old house owners (you remember them - the ones that came home early with the broken leg) met us for lunch in Stirling.  Stirling is a pretty little town just down the road where the autumn colours are just starting to paint the trees in the main street.  We sat on a verandah in the sunshine, ate a more than adequate lunch, and swapped stories of bicycle touring and hiking and the disasters that happen and make the best stories once everyone is back home again.  It was nice to find that our social skills hadn't atrophied from lack of use.

Then we had a phone call from Mrs F, whom we hung out with in Maleny back in July.  Now the F's were on holidays and calling us from Port Elliot, where they were busy riding their bicycles along the bicycle trail beside the railway beside the sea, and catching the Cockle train back to base.  As a matter of urgency we informed them about the Best Devonshire Tea in the World but they had already indulged their pie proclivities at the Best Bakery in the World.  Port Elliot has a lot of World Best Stuff if the advertising is to be believed.

The F's came and stayed in Mount Barker at the Caravan Park just down the road from us, and we ate good food and they even brought us a beautiful bunch of proteas from their afternoon visit to the protea farm.

 Now that we were on a socialising roll one evening didn't cut it, so we caught up with the them again at the Green Valley strawberry farm, for more talking and even better food, all the while sitting in the sun and looking out over the paddocks. Eventually the very tolerant proprietors of Green Valley Strawberries kicked us out and shut their gates for the day and we had nothing left to do but roll our well-fed selves home for the night.

I finished off the day with a quick lap around the Laratinga Wetlands, and the sad realisation that I've worn out the soles of my walking shoes. I'm very disappointed in my shoes: they advertised themselves as hiking boots and haven't delivered on their promises. The wetlands, on the other hand, delivered magnificently with multitudes of birds and lots of dog walkers. I got to practice more of my freshly honed social skills on the dog walkers and a very good time was had by everybody.

Me and my worn out shoes got home just before dark, which was good timing because the evening was getting chilly and the left overs from last night's very nice dinner were waiting for me.

Bon appetite!